Julischka - Hello Poetry

When you get older You stop being a hoarder You focus on quality And forget what society expects from you Marry young and bear a child So you think you should hide if you are different. What a pity To limit your activity. The world doesn’t see The treasure you could be. Life is toxic so you’d better box it And focus on your story. Stop saying sorry. Just find yourself and hope. That’s the real dope. And remember what matters Forget all the mad hatters. They are fake and make you step on the brake. Because they don’t care. Because they don’t dare. When you feel dizzy ‘cause this life’s so busy, Keep in mind that it will come to an end. So don’t pretend or suspend your dreams When you don’t fully apprehend. Am I near the end? My lines are not finished Though my style is not polished But who cares. I’m the one who dares To live and love, be strange and change. For I have connected the dots And I am alive against all odds.

0

Mar 29, 2019

Mar 29, 2019 at 5:30 PM UTC

Alive

When you get older You stop being a hoarder You focus on quality And forget what society expects from you Marry young and bear a child So you think you should hide if you are different. What a pity To limit your activity. The world doesn’t see The treasure you could be. Life is toxic so you’d better box it And focus on your story. Stop saying sorry. Just find yourself and hope. That’s the real dope. And remember what matters Forget all the mad hatters. They are fake and make you step on the brake. Because they don’t care. Because they don’t dare. When you feel dizzy ‘cause this life’s so busy, Keep in mind that it will come to an end. So don’t pretend or suspend your dreams When you don’t fully apprehend. Am I near the end? My lines are not finished Though my style is not polished But who cares. I’m the one who dares To live and love, be strange and change. For I have connected the dots And I am alive against all odds.

32

Can I be your bird? I will sit on your shoulder And whisper in your ears My secret songs So that nobody else hears The softness of the air Dancing through your hair I will sing with my sweetest voice Hoping your choice falls on me And you don’t run away Leaving me flying in the nothingness Can I be your bird? I will sleep on your nightstand My head tucked under my wing At the spot, your alarm clock used to ring I will sing a secret melody Bringing you remedy In an early morning I will sing with my sweetest voice Hoping your choice falls on me And you don’t run away Leaving me flying in the nothingness Can I be your bird? I will patiently wait for you to finish Your dish and leave bread crumbs On your napkin. Just let it be! A drop of water from your glass Will bathe me I will sing with my sweetest voice Hoping your choice falls on me And you don’t run away Leaving me flying in the nothingness Can I be your bird? I will nest on your chest Build a home above your heart So when I depart And fly away in the nothingness Your soul will remember a song she heard Of someone who’s never been your bird

0

Jan 30, 2019

Jan 30, 2019 at 12:43 PM UTC

Birds

Can I be your bird? I will sit on your shoulder And whisper in your ears My secret songs So that nobody else hears The softness of the air Dancing through your hair I will sing with my sweetest voice Hoping your choice falls on me And you don’t run away Leaving me flying in the nothingness Can I be your bird? I will sleep on your nightstand My head tucked under my wing At the spot, your alarm clock used to ring I will sing a secret melody Bringing you remedy In an early morning I will sing with my sweetest voice Hoping your choice falls on me And you don’t run away Leaving me flying in the nothingness Can I be your bird? I will patiently wait for you to finish Your dish and leave bread crumbs On your napkin. Just let it be! A drop of water from your glass Will bathe me I will sing with my sweetest voice Hoping your choice falls on me And you don’t run away Leaving me flying in the nothingness Can I be your bird? I will nest on your chest Build a home above your heart So when I depart And fly away in the nothingness Your soul will remember a song she heard Of someone who’s never been your bird

40

There is a dollhouse in the middle of the bedroom. It is pink. The dolls are sitting in the kitchen. They drink. They sit in silence. They drink in silence. No clink. Their hair is long and blonde. The makeup on their faces is too strong. The conversation was dead Even before it started They just stare at the table – The only thing that is stable. They are gentle, petite and nice Are they the candy for your eyes? Every morning they put on their mask Which makes them reliable The scripture on their grave will read ‘Likeable’. One of them is pregnant There is a baby in her belly. She can give birth anytime if you need A programmed life is not a crime. Indeed! We should celebrate her capability Of making it easier for society. There is a dollhouse in the bedroom. It is pink. The dolls are sitting in the kitchen. They drink. What’s in the tiny cups? Some tea. Exactly the way it should be Because ladies are modest They never do their best It can be intimidating And might reduce their chances of dating. And little girls follow. They obey. Nobody tells them that they can disobey. They are captives of their homes And they don’t even know. Of course. It’s part of the show. This is how the world is constructed: Women are the pillars and men construct it. They hold the weight of the world Without even noticing. Their possibilities of moving aren’t promising. Each direction is blocked: If they come out from under their burden, Fewer people will be bearing the same weight. And boy! The world will see the hate! Men would have to step in and take responsibility But they don’t want to acknowledge how strong gravity is. Earthly forces keep you on the ground And you cannot move upwards The invisible ceiling is pushing you back Your feet sink in the soil under the pressure. We are in it together. We are in it together. In the dollhouse. In the bedroom. Our clothes are pink. We sit in the kitchen And drink. We sit in silence. We drink in silence. No clink. Our makeup is strong and we know It’s wrong but nobody mentions there is a way out of conventions. A man pours tea into our cups. We don’t know any other beverage Though its quality is below average. We were raised on a potion Brewed with patriarchal notion.

0

Jan 19, 2019

Jan 19, 2019 at 3:59 PM UTC

The dollhouse

There is a dollhouse in the middle of the bedroom. It is pink. The dolls are sitting in the kitchen. They drink. They sit in silence. They drink in silence. No clink. Their hair is long and blonde. The makeup on their faces is too strong. The conversation was dead Even before it started They just stare at the table – The only thing that is stable. They are gentle, petite and nice Are they the candy for your eyes? Every morning they put on their mask Which makes them reliable The scripture on their grave will read ‘Likeable’. One of them is pregnant There is a baby in her belly. She can give birth anytime if you need A programmed life is not a crime. Indeed! We should celebrate her capability Of making it easier for society. There is a dollhouse in the bedroom. It is pink. The dolls are sitting in the kitchen. They drink. What’s in the tiny cups? Some tea. Exactly the way it should be Because ladies are modest They never do their best It can be intimidating And might reduce their chances of dating. And little girls follow. They obey. Nobody tells them that they can disobey. They are captives of their homes And they don’t even know. Of course. It’s part of the show. This is how the world is constructed: Women are the pillars and men construct it. They hold the weight of the world Without even noticing. Their possibilities of moving aren’t promising. Each direction is blocked: If they come out from under their burden, Fewer people will be bearing the same weight. And boy! The world will see the hate! Men would have to step in and take responsibility But they don’t want to acknowledge how strong gravity is. Earthly forces keep you on the ground And you cannot move upwards The invisible ceiling is pushing you back Your feet sink in the soil under the pressure. We are in it together. We are in it together. In the dollhouse. In the bedroom. Our clothes are pink. We sit in the kitchen And drink. We sit in silence. We drink in silence. No clink. Our makeup is strong and we know It’s wrong but nobody mentions there is a way out of conventions. A man pours tea into our cups. We don’t know any other beverage Though its quality is below average. We were raised on a potion Brewed with patriarchal notion.

70

Rain is pouring down my skin And I’m not moving. Motionless. I’m standing here notionless And let the drops wash away my pain. Dilute the poison. Cleanse the pores. Just that my soul could slowly creep back Through the open doors.

0

Jan 13, 2019

Jan 13, 2019 at 8:31 AM UTC

Rain

Rain is pouring down my skin And I’m not moving. Motionless. I’m standing here notionless And let the drops wash away my pain. Dilute the poison. Cleanse the pores. Just that my soul could slowly creep back Through the open doors.

9

My skin is prison walls My body is the inmate. It’s a one-woman jail Nobody pays my bail. There’s no way out In vain do I shout. / I can’t even shout. This lack of choice Has muted my voice. My mind is the prison guard She is omnipresent. Her presence is less than pleasant. My feet don’t really complain Even my arms follow my brain. Barbed wires made of thoughts Erase this inmate’s hopes.

0

Jan 13, 2019

Jan 13, 2019 at 8:23 AM UTC

Prison

My skin is prison walls My body is the inmate. It’s a one-woman jail Nobody pays my bail. There’s no way out In vain do I shout. / I can’t even shout. This lack of choice Has muted my voice. My mind is the prison guard She is omnipresent. Her presence is less than pleasant. My feet don’t really complain Even my arms follow my brain. Barbed wires made of thoughts Erase this inmate’s hopes.

15

I bought a silicone make-up sponge To cover all the blemish Patriarchy doesn’t cherish. It’s fancy and squishy The foundation’s quite wishy-washy.

0

Jan 13, 2019

Jan 13, 2019 at 8:07 AM UTC

Make-up

I bought a silicone make-up sponge To cover all the blemish Patriarchy doesn’t cherish. It’s fancy and squishy The foundation’s quite wishy-washy.

5

Voices echoing in my head Driving me mad My ears have become deaf The sounds of my soul avoid me Far from this place In the sea They are riding the waves. Free. My body ceased to be a home Now they just roam Alone. Flutter in the current Faithful comrades. They weren’t Far from this place In the sea They are riding the waves. Free. A thousand fragments of my soul That used to be whole Until they took a stance And embraced in a dance Far from this place In the sea They are riding the waves. Free. My skin became prison walls Cold and rigid Heavy teardrops making it livid Wires tear my bruises open Far from this place In the sea Broken pieces of me are free. No other chance but to wean. Sleep, eat, drink. Routine. An empty shell. No cry. That’s how life goes by. But in a place far from me, Amid the waves of the sea, Uplifted by heavenly brace, My spirit levitates in saving grace.

0

Jan 13, 2019

Jan 13, 2019 at 7:21 AM UTC

Fragments

Voices echoing in my head Driving me mad My ears have become deaf The sounds of my soul avoid me Far from this place In the sea They are riding the waves. Free. My body ceased to be a home Now they just roam Alone. Flutter in the current Faithful comrades. They weren’t Far from this place In the sea They are riding the waves. Free. A thousand fragments of my soul That used to be whole Until they took a stance And embraced in a dance Far from this place In the sea They are riding the waves. Free. My skin became prison walls Cold and rigid Heavy teardrops making it livid Wires tear my bruises open Far from this place In the sea Broken pieces of me are free. No other chance but to wean. Sleep, eat, drink. Routine. An empty shell. No cry. That’s how life goes by. But in a place far from me, Amid the waves of the sea, Uplifted by heavenly brace, My spirit levitates in saving grace.

36